


The Ballad of Secret Truths

by Dalphinia



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Green Arrow - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read, Drama, Endgame is queencest, F/M, M/M, Romance, Sex, Supernatural same universe, Tholiver, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform, mature content, queencest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalphinia/pseuds/Dalphinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen learns that the universe is a whole new world from the mysterious Dean Winchester.  Oliver also finds out he may be a little attracted to said green eyed hunter. Of course, that all pales in comparison when the road to his destiny seems to be hell bent on being insane. Pun intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rehab

Rehab

The shore is dry, the sand even more abrasive than usual somehow and the friction against his skin is torturing Oliver when he tries to get up, hands burning on the dry beach, hair wrapped around his eyes so he couldn't see two inches in front of him.

He spits out a chunk of _was that fish!?_ and slumps down to the ground again, his watery muscles refusing to support him.

He's washed up on the banks of some unoccupied beach, a blessing and a curse wrapped in one, He's not sure he can see his family just yet but he's not sure he wants to go back to fighting for his life again.

There's a loud yell that feels like it's burrowing into his head and Oliver winces in pain, ignores the loud sounds that sound scarily like _gun_ shots and finds himself puzzled when his eyes meet a pair of well worn boots that stop right in front of his face.

"D'you think he saw" a deep voice that almost reminds Oliver of his father greets his ears and before he can ask for help, another pair of well worn boots join the ones already in front of him but this time, he can't hear what they're saying.

They seem to sort something out though, and after a few groans from Oliver, they turn him over and Oliver wants to scream at the sensation of the sand chafing his skin and the salt in his eyes making them burn as he faced the sun. He wants to speak, perhaps say something but he can't make a sound even by moving his lips so he settles for mouthing the word "help" over and over, closing his eyes and wincing at the way his lungs rattled like an asthma patient as he wheezed.

Oliver gasps at the sudden painful motion that causes his ribs to seize in his body, he finds himself weightless and almost wants to puke before he realizes he's being carried by these strange men, carried almost like a piece of fire wood, his legs dragging on the rough sand before someone picks him up.

"Bastard's heavy" the deeper voiced man announces and the other one laughs quietly, but just loud enough for the sound to reach Oliver's ears.

And because he's tired and his body feels like meat put through a grinder, Oliver quietens down and drifts off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that at least he was in the hands of men.

* * *

When Oliver opens his eyes, they fall immediately upon a gun resting casually against a wooden door and it's all he can do not to panic in the stray thought that the ocean or the fucking _Russian mob_ might’ve been better than the place he currently was in.

"So you're up", a familiar voice rasps and Oliver turns his head much too quickly, cursing at the way his neck felt like it had been snapped in two when he finally got a look at his saviour.

The man was tall, almost as tall as him and he was muscular, clearly a man who worked out. His eyes shone a dark green in the shallow light and as he grinned, Oliver thought he was easily one of the more attractive men that he'd seen. The thought gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his gut and he frowned.

The man walked forward, unbidden worry in his eyes as he stooped to Oliver's level and roughly felt his forehead. Oliver's skin almost burned from the mere touch and he closed his eyes, smacking his chapped lips to show he wanted water.

"Sammy!" the stranger yelled out and it was all Oliver could do not to wince at the sound that felt irritatingly loud in his ears.

The heavier tread of another man quickly came and Oliver weakly opened his eyes, looking at the new guy, _Sammy_.

This man, Sammy was freakishly tall as well and Oliver wondered where exactly he was as he stared at the man who looked as though he could toss Oliver around for fun and later use him like a toothpick if he wanted to. He was handsome as well, albeit in a different way and his eyes traveled the length of Oliver like he was something to eat.

So Oliver turned back to the lesser frightening man, wondering who they were and what they were to each other.

 _Maybe they're a gay couple here for a vacation and you managed to interrupt them_ Oliver thinks ruefully before he chances another look at _Sammy_ and finds the man looking at him much more kindly now.

"Thought I told you not to yell" Sammy says to the man in front of him and Oliver closes his eyes, too tired to protest when Sammy took his temperature again.

"We need to call dad" he said quietly and Oliver fits the puzzle pieces in his brain as he realizes they are brothers and he flushes when he remembers the very intrusive question he was about to ask.

"His skin isn't healing as quick as it should Dean, we have to call dad" Sammy says and Oliver groaned in consternation at the thought of meeting another loud mouthed man.

Fortunately, John Winchester was of a silent sort.

Later, John walked into the room so silently that Oliver didn't notice the man's presence until he announced himself, warily eyeing Oliver and muttering "Christo" as Oliver wondered if he really looked _that_ bad.

Oliver watched the man carefully, pretending he was unconscious when the inevitable disrobing part came. He called in his elder son, _Dean_ , rather selfishly Oliver thought and the man rolled his eyes before dressing Oliver's wounds with a gentleness that surprised him.

"You know he looks like someone I could've swore I saw before" Sammy said and Oliver wonders when he walked into the room, wonders if he was there when his wounds got dressed.  
"Cheating on me princess?" Dean snarked and Oliver thought inanely that that was a really odd thing to say to your brother.

The floorboards creak loudly before he hears a muffled thump and Oliver nervously wondered what that was about and fought to contain the sudden curiosity inside of him.

It was a shock to hear Dean suddenly whisper in his ear, lips touching his ear lobe in a maddeningly close way as he said _I knew you were awake_ . And then after that shock, he opened his eyes only when he knew both of them were gone, sudden silence in the room confirming it.

Oliver looked down to see he was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt that hung little loose on him, he poked at the bones in his arm that protruded through the thin fabric then immediately cursed as he felt the pain arise in his arm, dry and paper sharp.

He looks around for a mirror and finding none, pushes aside the clean white bedsheets to examine himself, wincing at the reddish unhealthy hue of his skin.

He wants to open his shirt and examine the bruises he knows will be there, wants to see if the saltwater somehow infected his new brand, wants to see if his legs hurt as much as he thinks they will.

He swallowed twice, unaccustomed to the dry itch in his throat that hung on until he couldn't breathe unless he didn't swallow.

The room was eerily quiet and Oliver silently observed it for the first time. The walls were clearly made of wood and the paint job felt lackluster. There was an adjoining room in the corner, _bathroom_ Oliver thinks and the height of the room felt rather small. It seemed to be part of a traditionally built cabin that probably had seen better days. His room also held a threadbare carpet, a single window that was fastened shut and seemed to have - curiously enough - a line of salt outside the window.

He peered closer, wondering if he could get the window open, getting a stabbing sense of _not right_ before the handsome man from earlier _Dean_ , Oliver reminded himself, banged into the room and grabbed his shoulder "You don't wanna do that, get yourself killed" Oliver stared at him, suddenly a tad frightened and dreadfully tired, even grief too much of an emotion to experience as he could taste the blood of his father on his tongue if he thought too much.

"What's your name, sailor?" Dean snarked, pulling up a chair that scraped the floor loudly and almost made Oliver clutch his ears in protest.  
The man in front of him seemed to notice and also seemed not to care.

"Oliver Queen" he said, unbothered to lie and finding the faint spark of recognition in Dean's eyes far from reassuring. "If you're from the Bratva, what in the hell are you doing washed up on this shore?" And Oliver starts with surprise, wonders how he knows when a chilling thought that maybe he _is_ the Bratva causes him to stagger up and walk before he crashes to the bed in fatigue.

"Now I ain't from the Bratva but we got a job to do here and you're kind of in the way, man. And I'd take you to a hospital but I don't know if doing that's gonna get me in trouble" And Dean spreads his palms, leans back like he doesn't honestly care but Oliver answers, some instinct forcing him to acknowledge the man in front of him. "I didn't get kicked out of the Brava so you're safe, but I am their member. Honorary of course" "Of course" Dean reiterates before he smiles dangerously and Oliver is reminded of the fact that his life lies in the very capable hands of the man before him.

"Then I got in some trouble with one of their agents and government set a tail on me even though I didn't technically do anything wrong. I ended up in California before I had to go into a ship but that crashed and here I am" Oliver grins at the slightly shocked look in the man's face before him, sensing the fact that surprise didn't come to this _Dean_ all that easily.

"Please don't take me to a hospital" Oliver said quietly, knowing that hospital meant someone or the other would find him. Dean studied him for a second. "Figured you didn't want to the second you woke up and didn't ask for a hospital" he said quietly and Oliver let out a relived sigh at the way his voice didn't kill his eardrums this time.

He knelt back, voice worn thin with exertion, wondering if he could eat anything.

"Could I eat something?" he asks, pitifully rough, and he can hear Dean getting up silently although he muttered a curse before he went out.

After a wonderfully soft bread he was able to swallow without much thought and an even better soup that Oliver suspects has been cooked by the tall guy _Sammy_ he's confronted by the calm yet unsettling John Winchester again.

"Did you see what we were hunting?" he asks, voice low and gravely after Oliver finishes his tale for the third time, leans back again against his bed and wonders when he'll feel better to train again.

He knows he should say no, should say _what?_ but some unknown urge persists inside of him and he lies as convincingly as he can. "Yes I did" And then he can hear a long sigh from the elder man "You didn't think it was strange?" And Oliver probably shouldn't have said "I've seen stranger things" and probably should have confessed to lying but he doesn't and he's surprised when the other man rises up with alacrity and runs out of the door, slamming it behind him, loud enough to make Oliver want to burrow under his sheets and rest and sleep until he's unconscious _forever_.

Before he sleeps, he thinks of Laurel, thinks of his mother, and he thinks of his little sister, beautiful and grown up and probably unaware that her brother was now in a stranger's house. He thinks and wishes upon the sunbeams filtering in through the window until sleep claims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's lots of incest, so if that isn't your cup of tea, please leave now!! Also wincest and Queencest are endgame and the Laurel and Roy thing will be properly dealt with. Sorry guys, but no Lauriver or Theroy and no Olicity either.


	2. A Fresh Start

A Fresh Start

Oliver wakes up reluctantly, wishes he could burrow into the smooth sheets underneath him, wishes he could go home or go to another place, where nightmares of men in boots and green eyes don't haunt him.

"Good Morning Ollie" Dean says loudly and Oliver sighs, wishes he wouldn't use the nickname only Thea could use, finding the man's odd fascination with his name endearing and rather frightening too. "Brought you breakfast" he said, placing an odd container of something that looked suspiciously like porridge next to him. "Eat up" he says and disappears before Oliver can gather enough strength to whisper a thank you.

He takes a sip of the porridge, wondering how funny it was that there were still people that took care of everyone else in an increasingly selfish world. There's a rumbling in his stomach afterwards and Oliver wonders how long it'd been since he'd used a proper commode instead of the open sea.

It's awkward navigating himself to the bathroom and Oliver almost cries out for help. He stops himself by virtue of sheer pride. Pride and embarrassment. His body burns but it doesn't smell like fish and Oliver wonders if the men gave him a sponge bath when he was unconscious.

He's thinking of the sea and for a minute it astonishes him that there's no sand in his toes or anywhere else when he sits on the toilet and inspects his skin.

He looks at his legs first, taking into account the terrible way his toe nails curl upon themselves, tracking an odd set of red dots that cover his calf and disappear before he reaches his knee. The bandages around his leg cover most of the damage and he half-heartedly picks at them, wincing when he accidentally touches a sore patch of skin.

The rest of his body is red and sunburnt and Oliver avoids touching himself, wincing at the sensation inside of him when he finally relieved himself.

He gets up slowly, almost disgusted at himself when he finds out he can't stand unless he grips the edge of the sink.

He looks into the mirror, startled at the way his face looks ridiculously different. There's a thick stubble on his chin and the skin around his eyes is purple and black, _like a raccoon_ he thinks insanely.  
Oliver looks down at his arms which seemed to have lost the muscle that he worked hard to build up below the white bandages. Blisters dot the webbed skin between his fingers and Oliver winces as he flexes them, finding the spots red and discolored. Oliver goes back to bed when his legs shiver noticeably in protest when he places his weight on them for too long.

He lies silently, exhausted beyond reckoning and wishes for a moment that he could go home or rewind time so he never got on the damn yacht. 

* * *

It's later in the day, when Oliver wakes up again that the younger brother, Sam and not _Sammy_ as he previously thought appeared and kneeled in front of him, reopening the bandages that swathed his arms and chest, before replacing them and proclaiming him to be reasonably healing.

Oliver croaks out a _"Talk to John"_ and he thanked his stars that Sam seemed to be a little sensitive because he went obediently, long hair flopping onto his forehead as he stood and bashfully ducked his head before heading off to find his father.

Oliver wonders if the sexual look he'd previously seen from Sam was a misunderstanding on his part and felt rather mean when he walked back in a minute later with John, concern etched in the youthful lines of his face and his eyes fixed on his father as he pulled up his stool and waited for Oliver to question him.

"What did I see?" is the first thing he asks, knowing it was an unfair thing to ask, wondering if John would give him an honest answer.

John Winchester shared a look with his youngest child and Oliver had a feeling it was a look they gave each other often. Sam pursed his lips in an irritated fashion after a minute and his father turned to Oliver with a set expression on his face. "There's no going back son" he said and it's all that he says, face creased with worry lines around his mouth and crow feet around his eyes.

Oliver nods although his neck gives a creak in protest.

"You saw a naead, which is a water sprite that likes drowning children" There's a sudden silence that seems a deliberate attempt for Oliver to understand before John starts again, somewhat weary as he explained a fact he probably had many times before.

"There's a whole world of the supernatural out there and we are the defense against it. We call ourselves hunters and this is what we do, we kill them"

Oliver swallows once. His throat is dry and the motion doesn't help him but he swallows again.

The room is completely silent and he notices the shadow of a man in the door before Oliver rasps out, " _Salt outside window?_ " "Protection against demons" Sam replied and Oliver watched the shadow in front of the door walk away. He continued blankly, "They can't cross a line of salt, can be trapped in a pentagon and they can be warded away with holy water, it burns them and they can be found by muttering Christo, which will get them to freak out"

_Christo_ Oliver thinks _where had he heard that?_ he remembers all of a sudden that John had uttered the same word to him before.

John rolls his eyes at his son and stands up, barking out a "That's enough for today Sam" before they walk out and the shadow waiting at the door from before walks in.

"Well how are you today?" Dean mutters sarcastically and Oliver wishes he had an answer that ended in _fine_. There were supernatural beings in earth. Supposedly, of course but Oliver had a feeling the man wasn't lying. Everywhere. _Fuck_. Were all his childhood nightmares real? Was there a goddamn boogeyman?

He gives Dean a glance that says everything he can't. "Thought so" the man says and pats Oliver's thigh before he leaves but pauses at the door in a way that Oliver identifies as his own _player_ look. "Call me anytime" he jokes before he leaves and Oliver wonders when the smell of sweat, old leather and iron became so comforting.

He looks outside the window again, the salt line almost reassuring in a way it hadn't been before. The sun is shining brightly and Oliver can almost smell the waves of the ocean, tinged with salt and wonders if demons could go swimming in the ocean.

The thought strikes him as insanely funny and he almost trips over when his brain takes over and he's laughing, doubled up on the bed and wheezing in the hilarity, not even bothering to look as his door was opened and Dean (sweat, old leather and iron) rushed in and smacked Oliver on the cheek.

"The hell man?" he yells but Oliver can't stop laughing, wondering when his life became _playboy_ to something he didn't even understand anymore.

The Winchester is shaking him now and it hurts a little because he's gripping onto his wounded shoulder and the bandage digs in uncomfortably. He grabs Dean's face suddenly, feeling the stubble on the other man, wondering if Sara felt the same way when she touched the madman's face and knew she was saved.

Dean suddenly goes still and then Oliver isn't laughing anymore, takes his hand away because he knows he's straight as an arrow but it's odd to find a man so similar to him that he doesn't know what normal is anymore.

"Hey man, ladies only goods here" Dean says at last but it feels like a formality so Oliver returns it, shuffling onto his back, rearranging himself until he was comfortable. "Me too" he says and ignores the hunter's inscrutable expression.

"I was thinking about how this is a world with demons and none of us know the truth" he says and it sounds honest enough so the hunter leans back and stands up and begins to pace around the room.

"Hard to believe for you, you mean. Me and Sam, we were raised to be hunters, and even the shit I see is unbelievable everyday" he said, cocking that same, self assured smile Oliver used on his ladies.

Oliver wants to know more, wants to know how to protect himself against _demons_ and God knows what else but Dean suddenly looks embarrassed, like he hadn't meant to say all that and he turns away, excusing himself loud as usual so Oliver ignores the urge to ask and buries himself in his sheets, praying for sleep once more.


	3. Recuperation

Recuperation

"Aim higher deadshot" Dean joked, laughing while Oliver switched off the safety in his gun, hefted it up, his shoulder still throbbing from that time he crash landed _on_ it from from his time on the beach.

Dean laughed at his own joke and he frowned, squinting at the targets since the day was the sort of sunny that made everything look blurry and unfocused.  
Oliver shoots once, the sound almost too loud in the hot air that now smelled like gun powder and unhappily finds out that the recoil on the damn gun makes his whole body shake for a moment.

They wait for a moment before going to look at the lined up beer cans on the stone fence in front of the cabin. The birds sitting on it had disappeared and Oliver sighs loudly when he sees none of the beer cans have budged an inch, although the third one seems to have been grazed at the side.

"Barely grazed it _Ollie_ , you sure the Russian mob took you in? Are they handin out free passes now, hmm?" Dean said and chuckles at his own joke. "Give me an arrow" Oliver hisses instead, unamused by the laughter crinkling Dean's face in interesting ways.

"What are you? That chick from _Brave_ , Hawkeye?" he asks and Oliver stares at him blankly until he sighs, gives out a quiet " _righhhttt_ " before climbing inside the cabin, rummaging for an equivalent to a bow.

They had been practicing since two days, after Oliver voiced a desire to help and told them of his history in the mob and made up a training background and how he could handle himself just fine.

He was surprised initially when none of them gave any objections although Sam looked like he didn't approve. It took him a week to heal up properly and after a few fights and awkward dinners, Oliver had protested that this was the only way he could show his gratitude.

The Winchester family agreed and when Sam and John went to research more of the town's lore as they suspected the naead to be in company, Dean volunteered to stay back and teach their new addition to the team.

Oliver was alright at shooting and he was predictably good at hand to hand training and even injured, he was proud to say he beat Dean once. But morning had descended to an afternoon full of sweat and pain and Oliver was bone tired, his head pounded and his eyes felt as thought they were continuously in danger of falling out from all the stress he'd been placing them in.

He hadn't had the pleasure of a painless sleep in two days and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open for something to come crawling out of his closet. It didn't take too long for Dean to start teasing him about the _boogeyman_ When he woke up screaming at night.

Dean returned and Oliver snapped back to attention automatically, taking in the bow handed to him with a fervency he generally reserved for women and beer.

_Finally something familiar_

The bow was black and sleek, simple and completely the opposite to the fancy, dangerous ones he had access to at the _Russian mob_.

He stretches the string with his pinky finger, almost cuts himself with the sharpness of the string before he whistles in admiration.

"Where'd you get this?" he manages to rasp out, proud that his speech didn't stutter in that strange way it did when his throat decided to seize up. "None of your business, now try the arrows alright looney tunes?" Dean snarked and stepped back, watching Oliver as he stretched the bow taut, picked up an arrow placed in the quiver next to him, felt the silky modern smoothness of it before he aims.

He lets go, reloads two more and quickly shoots them, the motion familiar and easy.

There's a distant thunk of metal on metal and when Oliver opens his eyes, the three beer cans sprout arrows, dead centre and Dean finally looks somewhat impressed.

"We'll make a hunter out of you yet" Dean smiles before heading into the house with an "interns clean up!" command issued through the open door.

Oliver sighed.

* * *

Dinner in the Winchester household is always awkward and silent. There's tension coloring the air, Sam stares at his father with an expression Oliver recognizes as the same one he had when he was a teenager. Dean is shoveling food into his mouth, moaning almost indecently.

"Where'd you learn to cook man?" he says and Oliver drags his gaze away from John before cocking his head and taking in a swig of the beer. "My father always said a man needed to know how to cook" he said and Dean doesn't reply, attention diverted to the mashed potatoes in front of him as he devoured them enthusiastically.

There's a moment where Oliver feels intensely sad, wonders how long it had been since Dean and Sam had had a proper meal, wonders when their mother had died and why it felt like her shadow hadn't left the profile of their father.

"Take the guest upstairs Sam" John says suddenly, after they've all eaten and Dean is actually cheerfully putting away the plates. The younger brother scowls, drags his chair away from the table and moves to grab Oliver, who gives him a dirty look. "Can move on my own" he says and gives Sam a small smile when he holds his hands up on apology.

They climb upstairs fast as they can but it's still too late because they can hear shouts and yells and something that sounds like _stop defendin him boy_ before Sam locks his door. "family business" he says, even though he looks tortured like he didn't think it really was.

"Some family you are" Oliver says and quickly clams up, wondering if he crossed an invisible line. Dean is easy to handle, charm and self hate and complex in a way he understands. Sam however. . . "You ever been to college?" Sam asks suddenly, his eyes peering through his soft wavy hair, expression intense in a way he couldn't sort out.

"Yeah" Oliver says quietly. "Some ivy league" he adds, surprised when Sam gives him a glare that quickly melts into astonishment.

"I was in Stanford" he says, facing away, ignoring the loud shouts that came from below. "I had a lot of things, but now I gave my everything" he says and the statement is so odd, so _off_ that Oliver can't help the shiver of fear that runs through him and douses the warmth of the cabin in a chill that seeps through to his bones.

"I'm sorry" he offers, silent again as he pondered what kind of family he'd just walked into. "All I have is Dean" he says before he yanks open the door and walks out, coast seemingly clear for both of them. Oliver doesn't respond, pretends like he can't hear the tremors in Sam's voice, pretends he can't hear the utter alien sense of longing lurking behind it.

Dean climbs into the room later, when Oliver's practicing that insanely hard meditation trick Tatsu taught him. He flicks his eyes open before the man enters, watches through hardened eyes at the man who saved him, at the man whose history seemed so entangled and complicated he didn't know what to say to him.

But Dean sits there silently, his stubble gleaming golden in the light as he turned to Oliver, fingers rubbing at a bruise _a hickey_ that hadn't been on his neck earlier.

"Who's the chick?" Oliver asks, then immediately cringes because the statement felt so off coming from him, from the eternal playboy's mouth, the man who currently just wanted to go home and hug his sister.

Dean doesn't answer, although his fingers flutter restlessly to the bruise like he can't keep his hands off of it, there's a faint smile that glimmers on his face with such love that Oliver has to fight away the sudden jealousy that erupts inside of him.

"She that special?" Oliver asks, doesn't know why he's prodding the man for information, doesn't know why there's an itch under his skin that's forcing him to push the man in front of him. "Yes" Dean says and Oliver swallows a small gasp of surprise. "In this line of wor-?" he stops there, wondering if what he said was insensitive. "We can share that" Dean replies but his eyes are focused on Oliver's lips in an obscene way and when he smiles in return, it feels like a glimpse of insanity he was gifted to see.

"You really want to do this?" Dean asks and Oliver knows what _this_ is, hunting. He means hunting, he means protecting his family from fucking ghosts and demons and it's all Oliver can do to not say _duh_.

"You need to read" Dean says.

"Most of the folklore and the lore is true" he continues before he reaches under his jacket and pulls out a huge tome, and Oliver notes that the cover on it looks horribly like a skinned animal's.

"Read this, cover to cover and we'll see if your serious the day after" Dean says and Oliver understands that there's to be no training tomorrow because of the round about way that Dean just told him.

"Okay" Oliver whispers, takes the tome into his hands and then almost yelps in surprise as Sam bursts into the room, eyes dangerously skittering around him before he took in the sight of the book and relaxed. Oliver takes in his stance and another uncomfortable feeling rolls inside of him when Sam strides over to them and presses a possessive hand on Dean's shoulder, "Let's go to bed" in a way that sounds much more suggestive than it should've been.

Dean winks at him before he leaves the room and Oliver wonders if he even notices the way Sam looked at him like he was a threat... Like _he_ was Dean's.....

He doesn't want to continue the strange line of thought, doesn't want to think about things he'd rather not be true.

Oliver opens the tome and begins reading, unaware of the muffled yells in the room next to his as the brothers worked out their differences in the way only they knew how.


	4. The Hunt

The Hunt

Oliver rises early, the heavy tome next to him taking up most of the space on his bed. The pages look unduly ruffled and Oliver thinks he can see Thea's disapproval in the way he'd handled the book, worried at the way it looked like it'd been in a fight. He smiles and carefully puts the tome away, wondering how he'd managed to plow through half of it, considering it mainly consisted of unreadable Latin and unrealistic things.

Who ever heard of a Darach, for a goddamn example?

A loud growl in the silence of the room announces Oliver's hunger for him and he finds out that his body aches again, gun powder now the dominant scent on him. There's a lull in the Winchester household and the lack of activity makes Oliver both worried and eager. The sounds of the brothers quarrelling don't reach him and he slips into one of the shirts left in the bathroom for him before climbing downstairs, knees and shoulder still protesting at the heavy thuds.

The cabin is empty. Before he's convinced the family up and bailed on him, Oliver sees a hastily written note on the fridge. _that's domestic_ he thinks and stifles a smile at the notion.

 _'Be back by afternoon, gone for supplies and information. Train and try not to eat all the food, cupcake'_ is written and Oliver stifles another smile that rises up inside of him, unbidden.

He looks around warily, eyeing the hard floors and the limited room to even explore. John's room is somewhere beyond the kitchen and the brother's room is upstairs a few walls away from his. Normally, Oliver would be investigating each and every room but his chest still wheezes sometimes and he thinks it's better to just ignore the curious urge inside of him and so he goes back to his room, stuffing himself with a thoughtful sausage left out for him.

The tome still lies there, and Oliver fights away his sudden disgust and contemplates upon the fate of his life if he didn't complete it.

He lost the battle quickly and relegated himself to being an expert on ancient Latin in under a day. Tops.

It's _after_ afternoon when the Winchesters return and Oliver still isn't sure he's completely glad to see them again. It does disturb him however, when Dean winks at him and he feels almost compelled to wink back. It's also later, perhaps after _after_ afternoon that Oliver decides to spy on them. Probably not the best decision ever.

Branches creak no matter how carefully the brothers walk, the woods obscure Dean's hand as he points into them, Sam following him quietly. It's twilight now and the darkness clings to the edge of the sun, giving everything a subtle glow.

The forest behind the cabin is odd but similar nonetheless to the numerous _beach forests_ that dotted the coast in numerous places.

The sand is warm and the smell of the sea is rich in the air and Oliver thinks he shouldn't be spying on the people who just helped him and gave him knowledge he probably never would've had otherwise. He thinks it's funny that he can track them so easily, so effortlessly but then again, the Russian mob didn't exactly give their badges to idiots, no matter what Dean seemed to think.

He wants to see if they're hunting something and some part of him that's fascinated by their lifestyle wants to see how they look like hunting whatever it is that's out there, wonders if their sleek muscles will roll in that precise way the mob had taught him to, wonders if they have anything against the other members with which he'd trained.

The wood is dense and the leaves under Oliver crunch loudly everytime he walks quicker. He's afraid of the sound every single time and pauses after two minutes, trying to stem the feeling of panic when the brothers stop on front of him and quietly converse.  
Their voices are too soft to make out properly, so Oliver ignores the urge to reveal himself and hides in the pocket of a grand looking tree.

After a good five minutes, the boys start walking again and Oliver continues to follow them, anticipation of being found out trilling his nerves, turning his knees into jelly. There's cold sweat dotting his neck and Oliver remembers he shouldn't push himself like before, shouldn't expect his body to be perfectly compliant after his dint in the sea.

They hike without bothering to be silent, all three of them in fact and when it seems obvious that there's no monster in the woods, he almost turns to go back to the cabin. A muffled sound of something soft hitting rock stops Oliver however and he hovers in uncertainty.

The sound appears again and manages to stop him in his return and curiosity overwhelms his senses when Oliver goes closer, sees Dean's jacket thrown carelessly on a rock before he creeps even closer, foliage obscuring him neatly as he spied Sam.

A very half naked, sweaty Sam.

The sight stuns him and he wonders what the hell they were doing when his question is answered in the most graphic way possible.

Sam kneels and Oliver follows his movement until he can see what he sees, Dean standing with his back pressed against the wood of a fairly wide tree. His head was tilted back and he was breathing hard. His face was in the shadows, but even though he was only partially visible, Oliver could see that he didn't look like he was wary or scared.

Then a husky laugh drew his gaze downward to Sam again. He was on his knees in front of him, jeans resting upon rough ground. All Oliver could see of him was his wavy brown hair caked with forest leaves. Then his hands moved up, running along Dean's thighs and Oliver coughed back a gasp.

Go! His mind screamed, You shouldn't be watching this! But Oliver couldn't move, didn't want to move because there was a horrifying sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him to stay and watch even if he didn't want to. Dean's throat is oddly vulnerable in his stance and his expression, so lax so trusting is hypnotizing and Oliver copies Dean's gulp even before he realizes he's doing it.

"Stop!” And Oliver jerked visibly for a minute before he realized Dean wasn't talking to him.

"You don't really want me to.” Sam growled, raking his nails across the rough fabric of Dean's trousers.

"Sam, not like this.” and Oliver thought it sounded as if he was grinding his words from between his teeth. "You can't make this a going away present.”

"You know you can visit me whenever you want, Dean.”

Sam's voice was husky with desire but there was a way in which he said the words that sounded almost desperate. Oliver wanted to leave, but tangled emotions and that same, crazy sense of curiosity remained, which forced him to stay put although he shuffled deeper into the leaves, making sure they covered his rather conspicuous white bandages.

Dean looked like he was upset and like he couldn't say anything but he pulled Sam up, and Oliver thought how odd it was to see Sam tower over his older brother in that way.

"Can't let you go, Sammy", Dean mumbled, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders before he reached up.... and kissed Sam.

It was stranger than what Oliver thought it would be like. He was watching brothers, _two grown brothers_ make out right in front of him and he couldn't even understand the sick shiver that ran down his back like ice because of the scene. He'd never even seen two guys kiss and the fact that they were _brothers_ made it seem all the more strange.

They looked almost like they were warring with each other, Sam's large hands completely covering Dean's bicep and squeezing it harshly. Soft moans greeted the silence in the air and the wind responded almost in kind and Oliver thought he could hear a faint wailing as it raced through the trees around them.

Oliver shuddered; against his will, he was completely mesmerized.

"Sammy" Dean gasped, arched until his throat gleamed golden in the sunlight streaming through the trees, and Oliver saw Sam lower his head until he kissed down the long length of his throat. Oliver tore his eyes from the sight, deciding he had enough and took one step back.

Dean's eyes lifted at that exact moment and caught Oliver's.

Oliver wanted to scream, wanted to yell at the act he'd just witnessed, wanted that sick feeling of uneasiness that flowed through him to disappear.

"Sammy" Dean moaned again and Oliver took his chance, felt his head begin to shake back and forth, back and forth.

Oliver ripped his eyes away from Dean and stumbled back.

He didn't feel the branches trip him up nor the slice of wood on his hands as he sprinted speedily through the trees, not pausing to catch his breath, realizing his body ached when he stumbled back into the cabin, unable to run any more.

He didn't know if Sam or Dean knew he was there, didn't want to know if they'd sensed his presence. He wonders idly if he should run away and maybe do _something_ but he's too exhausted to pursue anything.

The horror of what he'd seen had imprinted itself in his brain and as Oliver turned down his bed, he clutched his hands around himself and sobbed unashamedly into the pillow, thinking about how they'd _he shuddered_ kissed.

 _Brothers_ his mind insisted, as though he hadn't seen it all for himself. _They're brothers_ he mumbled thoughtlessly, ignoring the faint prices of disgust that occupied his thoughts.

Twilight was fading into night and Oliver looked out of his window, the salt line predictably there, safe comfortable.

He watched the moon rise and wondered when the Winchesters had started, well..... That. And then he wishes he had bleach to wipe his mind clean.


	5. Finding Home

Finding Home

The smell of fresh pancakes waft almost indecently through the air and Oliver breathes in deep, wondering if his mother had decided to wake up early for once and actually make pancakes instead of letting the maids do it.

He blinks his eyes, crusty with over sleep and panics when he meets a pair of glinting eyes focused directly onto him.

Oliver shoots up into a sitting position so fast he wonders if he got whiplash from it, scoots until his ass is firmly parked against the wall, like a snake recoiling in haste against a human.

"Rise and Shine, Ollie" Dean purrs, voice soft but somehow dangerous, an undercurrent of silk in his gravel baritone. "Morning, uh Dean" Oliver rasps out, wondering if this was a test of some sort and remembers the look on Dean's face from _yesterday in the forest_ , so he immediately flushes red and gets the insane feeling that his face looks like he's been set on fire.

"We thought you'd enjoy the pancakes" Dean said and the words were so _structured_ coming from him that Oliver gulped back his automatic thank you, wondering what exactly Dean's motivation was. "You wanna go home, eh Ollie? I think you still wanna hunt" he said suddenly and glared at him, stubble dark today and forming a ragged shadow on his handsome face.

The message wasn't exactly subtle, but Oliver nodded all the same, honestly wanting to retort with something but unable to find anything particularly good. "None of my business" he says at last and when Dean gives him a surprised look before walking out, Oliver feels a flutter of emotion inside him and then he turns to ponder a lesser difficulty, the decision of wearing jeans _or_ slightly muddy jeans.

* * *

"Brilliant shooting son" John says and he gives Oliver a firm pat on the back.

He's grinning, ignoring the appreciative glance from Dean and the blank look Sam's been giving him ever since he'd _known_. It had been around ten days since Oliver had arrived in the Winchester boot camp and it had been a week since the Forest incident.

He's ironically felt at home with the men here, devoid of women they may be, unlike in his world. There's just an overwhelming sense of discipline and _manliness_ that seems to be the front here and he quickly warms up to the feeling, feeling like the Russians had done a perfectly good job in imposing impossible timings inside of him.

He still thinks of Thea when he's sleeping, still thinks about her almost constantly when he's doing anything, changing the barrel of his gun reminds him of the way she used to beg for him to fix her toys when she was much younger, the _click_ of the revolver setting into place reminds him of the way she'd piggyback on top of him whenever she got the chance.

He doesn't know why he doesn't think of Laurel that much, pure beautiful Laurel but it's probably because he took her sister along with him and ruined her life so he decides it's pretty much a feeling of guilt within him whenever he remembers her. Or maybe it's because he's a coward and he'd rather think about Thea who'll love him despite everything, instead of anyone else.

He asks John if it's normal to think about someone while hunting, if it's normal to obsess over them until you thought of them constantly.

John is smiling all of a sudden and pats Oliver in a fatherly way. He gets the feeling the question was welcome in an odd sort of way. "Girl waiting for you back home?" he asks, voice soft with emotion. It seems odd to say he's thinking about his sister so Oliver merely says yes. "I think about the one I love most during hunting, it's a given" he replies and as he looks in the distance, Oliver wonders why he gets the sudden feeling that John Winchester thought of someone other than Sam and Dean.

He turns around again and resumes his military personality before giving Oliver a shove in the direction of the artillery. "Clean the machine guns, we might use 'em on a hunt" Oliver recognizes the man's intent immediately, wonders if he is finally, _finally_ going on a hunt.

That night he dutifully checks his bandages and smiles good naturedly at the neatly healed wounds underneath them. He stretches his limbs and wonders when he should leave when the pain doesn't appear immediately like every other day.

There's a knock on his door and Oliver walks towards it casually, hackles on the back of his neck rising like a wolve's as he creeped as stealthily as he could to open his door at midnight. He wonders when he starts thinking about red eyes gleaming in the dark instead of concerned people when he opens the door nervously.

Dean, _Dean Winchester_ , is leaning against the door frame, that same smirk that Oliver's seen on him since the day he woke up plastered firmly on his face.

Sam is behind him and they silently enter without invitation, slinking easily into the room and Sam's hulking exterior giving the room even more opportunity to play with shadows.

Oliver stares at both of them, feeling reluctantly hostile as he remembers _the Forest incident_ and crosses his arms, welcoming the swell of muscle that press against his abdomen as he does so and waits silently, smelling that same wonderful leather and iron as they walked closer to him.

"What do you want?" he rasps and Dean places a placating arm on him while whispering "Gotta make sure you can handle tomorrow _Ollie_ " he says and Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, pulls out something from his pocket - _a strange necklace_ \- and hands it over to him. Oliver takes it without touching Sam's hand, a fact that goes unnoticed by _nobody_ in the room.

Dean clears his throat and the sound is so loud that Sam winces along with Oliver, who reflexively places his hands over his ears, a ghost like pain that carried over from his sea wreck days. "It protects you against demonic possession, so make sure you got it on you at all times"

"What about y-?" Oliver gasps out before he can stop himself. The brothers give each other an unreadable look and pull their shirts down until Oliver can see a tattoo marking their chests. It's a pentagram with a a star in the center and he wonders if it means something similar to paganism.

"Oh" he says and the boys smile at his stunned expression. "See ya tomorrow" they say like nothing happened. Oliver wonders if Dean told Sam that he'd seen them together, and then realizes the truth as he places a possessive hand slung _too_ low on Sam's back before he walks out.

Oliver swallows in disgust and that sick sense of curiosity before Dean winks at him as he exits and the thought of what exactly that meant had Oliver tossing and turning in his bed until the wee hours of the morning and when _that_ inevitably came, he was grumpier than usual.

"The hunt is about twenty miles from here" John says, loading the bullets into his gun noisily. "You boys sleep well?" he asked the brothers as they descended. Oliver looked at them strangely, that pit of despair in his stomach and wondered why he didn't feel an immediate need to blurt out the nasty things they were doing.

"Yeah dad, but it was a hard night" Dean says, chewing on his bacon as Oliver chokes on his own, wondering how he got words like _that_ out so meaninglessly then wonders horrifiedly how many years they'd been _doing_ it. "You alright?" John asks and thumps his back, unaware of the silent staring contest between his son and his guest. Oliver won when Dean broke it off and stuffed the remaining piece of bacon into his mouth before grabbing Sam on his way out.

Oliver stuffs his own breakfast in his mouth before he gives John a woebegone grin and follows Dean.

"I knew you'd come" Dean says and chuckles when they're some distance away from the house, sand gathering underneath their feet, sun blazingly hot up above.  
"What the hell is up with you guys?" he asks and they stop, scarily in sync. Sam places a hand on Dean's shoulder and walks toward him until he's close enough to _kiss_.

A breeze wafts suddenly and Oliver feels like the air is suddenly tinged with electricity between them. "No" he says and Sam throws his head back, laughs so darkly that he winces and wonders when childhood and sanctity ceased to have meaning for the men in front of him. "Why?" he asks, tamping down the disgust that threatens to overtake his voice and make him sound worse than he is now.

"Because he's mine" Sam says darkly, his breath wafting across Oliver's face and his heart speeds up at the sound, wonders if there is some kind of abuse going on, looks at Dean who has that same expression on his face like they are one heart that beat as two and like they can't live without the other.

He takes a step back, mind reeling with the intensity of both of them until Dean yanks Sam back with a predatory grin and fucking kisses him, mouth smashing against him in a way that spoke of violence and blood as Oliver watched speechlessly, unable to do anything as Sam _moaned_ and Dean yanked on his hair so hard, Oliver swore he could see blood dripping down Dean's hand, coloring his hand in red and washing away the family pretense they kept up in front of their father.

He suddenly gets a vision of both of them on a battleground, covered in dust and blood and kissing each other in the same way, ignoring carnage and bloodshed upon them because in that instant he feels like he's caught up in something dark and sacred all at once and the brothers are messing with him, messing up the way he sees family forever, corrupting his mind worse than the fucking Island, than the freaking Russian mafia.

He watches them, frightened and fascinated and disgusted all at once and just when he finds his voice to say something, "Boys!" John calls and Dean disconnects his lips from Sam, blatantly licks his lips and grins ferally at Oliver before he stalks inside.

Sam gives him a look that eerily echoes Dean and rubs his lips on his sleeve, messes up his windblown hair and goes inside without looking back at Oliver.

It takes some time for Oliver to compose himself and go inside and when John gives him a disapproving look for being late, he doesn't even notice as he glances at the Winchester brothers and wonders if the blood he saw on them really was _just_ a vision.


End file.
